


Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

by obscurial



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Chikage is a workaholic, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Gay Fantasy Porn Nothing Makes Sense, Itaru has negative 20 braincells, M/M, Masturbation, Office Sex, Oral Fixation AGAIN?????, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23461633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscurial/pseuds/obscurial
Summary: “I’m nearly done,” he calls, “Don’t worry about me, I’m just about to leave.”Like he hasn’t heard that before, Itaru thinks, narrowing his eyes. But unlike the days before, he doesn’t just accept his superior’s words and head home. This time, he’s got aplan.(In other words, Itaru comes up with an idea to stop Chikage from overworking himself.)
Relationships: Chigasaki Itaru/Utsuki Chikage
Comments: 10
Kudos: 143





	Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

**Author's Note:**

> hi, it's me. i haven't written an Explicit fic in a long time, so this is... kind of wild for me. LMFAO. 
> 
> please don't... uh... think too hard about the Logic in this fic bc all the blood Left my brain and went down south while i was writing this . i'm sorry ...

Despite the many differences between the Chikage that Itaru had met back in college and the Chikage that is currently standing in as his section head, oftentimes, Itaru finds that he is very much quite the same. He still remains as the only person who knows exactly how to respond to every witty remark Itaru sends his way, without even missing a beat, confidently replying with quips of his own--and as much as it pains Itaru to say it, he does admit that he genuinely enjoys this constant, back-and-forth game of intellectual tennis. (He had once joked, upon defeat, that he was merely allowing himself to “sapiosexually bottom” for Chikage--which earned him a satisfyingly sharp inhale from Chikage and the last laugh for himself--and only then did he realise that yeah, actually, this does kind of feel like foreplay. Really, really weird foreplay. But he didn’t let himself dwell on that for too long.)

He’s also noticed that Chikage’s still the textbook definition of a martyr, a self-condemned _Atlas_ , never allowing himself to bask in warmth in fear of forgetting how terrible it feels to be cold. Itaru would like to think that Chikage’s getting better at being kinder to himself, but he doesn’t miss the purplish skin beneath his eyes, or the way that he’s always the first one to arrive at the office and the last one to leave. He’s got ‘workaholic’ written all over his face and his performance--a quality that his deputy general manager has commended him for repeatedly, as if overworking oneself halfway to death is anything to be praised about in the first place. _He’s at it again_ , Itaru thinks, finishing the last of his coffee before chucking the semi-crushed can into a nearby recycling bin, _the goddamned King of Overtime_. 

Almost every light on the floor is off, save for the few sensor lights in the breakroom (where Itaru was nursing his caffeine deficiency), and the one lonesome fluorescent bar illuminating the area surrounding Chikage, blanketing him in a clinically bluish glow. Itaru’s pretty certain that even the janitor’s gone home for the evening, eager to spend time with his family instead of hanging around the soul-sucking office. The place is completely empty, except for Chikage. Well, and Itaru, who’s still the well-meaning busybody he was back in college. For some reason, he’s decided that it’s his job to make sure Chikage doesn’t collapse one day from burnout.

And what a herculean task it is--this past week, he’s honestly tried everything to persuade Chikage to call it a day: shutting down his computer (to which he simply turned it back on), stealing his paperwork (to which he proceeded to print yet another copy, that tree-killing bastard), and even locking him inside a bathroom cubicle (Itaru, stupidly enough, hadn’t taken into account the factor that a secret agent like Chikage was absolutely capable of breaking open a lock faster than he could say “go home”).

Okay, so he hasn’t tried _quite_ everything. He does have an idea in mind, but if Operation No Way Out (Of The Cubicle) didn’t work, his confidence in this one runs thin and weak. Then again, if it’s one thing he’s learnt from every strategy game he’s ever played, it’s this: an idea that you’d never, not in a thousand years, ever think would work is just as likely to succeed as the battleplan you swear your life on (for better or worse).

“If you’re going to keep staring at me, I might have to start charging, Chigasaki-san,” Chikage teases from across the room, and Itaru doesn’t even need him to turn around to know that he’s got a _shit-eating_ grin on his annoyingly handsome face. 

Snorting, Itaru approaches him, something along the lines of _okay, how much do you charge for you to go the fuck home_ just on the tip of his tongue. But once he reaches his desk, his facial expression softens into something disgustingly fond when he sees Chikage subconsciously gnawing on the end of his pen as he goes through his documents. He reaches out to smoothen the ever-growing crease between Chikage’s eyebrows, and he’s gratifyingly rewarded with a larger hand enveloping his own.

“What’s the matter with you? You’re so… uncharacteristically quiet.”

Itaru leans down to nuzzle at his neck, squeezing his hand in the hopes that he’d be able to transfer maybe even half of his warmth into Chikage’s cold fingers. “Can you call it a day,” Itaru mumbles, and he’s absolutely not above injecting a little whininess into his drawl, dignity be damned, “ _Please_.”

Chikage sighs, combing his fingers through Itaru’s hair, “So this is your new mission strategy, huh…”

“Yuh huh,” Itaru says with his face smushed into Chikage’s shoulder, forcing his words to come out in garbled muffles, “Ish it wuhhkeng.”

“Well, it’s definitely working better than you hiding my paperwork in the freezer,” he comments, unable to stop the smile from reaching his face when he sees the tips of Itaru’s ears radiate with a bright, telltale red. “How’s this: I’ll leave once I finish up this section of my proposal.”

Itaru peeks at Chikage from the crook of his shoulder. “And you leave your laptop here so you can’t work on it at home. And you leave on time tomorrow.”

Clucking his tongue, Chikage nudges at the mop of blond on his shoulder with his cheek, “You drive a hard bargain, Itaru. But fine, deal.”

Itaru lets Chikage shrug him off with a pleased smile, leaving to camp out in the breakroom (and thank _God_ he remembered to bring his Switch today). “Great. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

\---

A whole hour has passed.

Itaru had initially been planning to go back in to bug Chikage after twenty minutes, but he was too engrossed in his game (twenty nook miles tickets later, he had _finally_ managed to land himself on scorpion island!) and, in a very Itaru-istic fashion, completely forgot to check in on him. Judging by how he didn’t hear the stairwell door close, he’s pretty certain that Chikage’s still here, too. Packing away his console, he racks his brain trying to brainstorm a way for his scrawny ass to wrestle the stubborn bitch out of the building. _Even just distracting him from working on his proposal would be fine_ \--

It is this exact moment that a deeply buried memory of an office-themed porn video he had seen back in high school enters the front of his conscience. Well. At this point, Itaru’s so desperate, he’ll try _anything_.

He walks back into the room, and sure enough, Chikage’s still hard at work, typing furiously into his laptop. “I’m nearly done,” he calls, “Don’t worry about me, I’m just about to leave.” _Like he hasn’t heard that before_ , Itaru thinks, narrowing his eyes. But unlike the days before, he doesn’t just accept his superior’s words and head home. This time, he’s got a _plan_.

“Yep, sure. I just forgot something at my desk, so I came back to get it,” he hums, and makes his way over to his desk, opening up his lower drawer to pull out a sizable jar of vaseline. His heart is in his goddamn ears right now, at the thought of what he’s about to do. Glancing around to check for CCTV cameras, he attempts to unbuckle his belt as quietly as possible, before carefully slipping both his trousers and underwear down to his ankles, unblinking eyes trained on the back of Chikage’s head. Freeing his legs from the garments, he sits onto his chair and uncaps the vaseline, bravely dipping his fingers into the jar and rubbing his slippery hands together. Good fucking _lord_ , he’s really about to ruin the rest of his days at this office doing _this_ here at his desk but if he’s really, truly honest, the thrill of it all is… kind of turning him on. 

He leans back in his chair, bringing a socked foot up to rest on a drawer handle as he sits in the most obscene, porn-esque position possible with one leg propped up and bent at the knee and his groin in full view. Scooting further down the chair, the leather rubbing awkwardly against his asscheeks, he begins to swirl his vaselined finger around his pucker, his other hand fondling his steadily hardening cock. Of course, Chikage’s still oblivious, flipping through pages of statistics and filling up pie charts on Google Slides like a fucking _headass_.

Itaru begins to pick up his pace, pleasuring his cock with long, rough strokes, the tip of his thumb pressing against the opening of his urethra to coax small beads of precome to the surface. He feels hot all over, like he’s running a fever, breaths coming out in quiet, uneven huffs. Chikage pauses on the sentence that he’s typing but immediately resumes without a word, as if he had paused just to ponder further about his train of thought. Itaru feels about halfway to murderous right now.

 _Pay attention to me_ , he silently begs, pushing a finger into his opening, and he can’t help the soft hiss that slips between his clenched teeth. He compensates by stroking himself faster, his fingers forming a tight ring to push his swollen, blushing tip in and out of, and he honest to God has to bite on his lips to stop himself from audibly gasping--which is, strangely, a first for him. It’s not like he doesn’t jerk himself off like this from time to time, but the fact that he’s now doing it a) not in the privacy of his own room and b) with an audience (?) is unbelievably, embarrassingly attractive to him. It’s like Itaru’s fingers are moving on their own, pushing in and out and in and out and stretching and _rubbing_ \--his hips uncontrollably chase after the shadows of his digits, already missing the way they pry him open once they leave, and he clumsily readjusts himself in his seat, slowly slipping closer and closer to the ground. 

He’s got a good rhythm working for him now, fingers pumping and stroking in unison, and he momentarily forgets that he’s getting himself off in the office, letting out the most desperate mewl when his fingers, familiar from experimentation, manage to press against a soft wetness within him. _Shit, that’s right, Is Chikage still working…?_ Itaru presses his cheek against the backrest of his leather seat, scooting backwards to possibly catch a glimpse of Chikage’s back. He’s genuinely surprised to see his desk unoccupied, and his fingers halt their movement in shock. _Did he… leave?_

“Oh, but you had just gotten to the best part,” Chikage coos, amused, and Itaru nearly breaks his neck whipping his head towards the chair next to him, caught off guard by how Chikage had managed to sneak up on him. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Itaru mutters, curling into a dizzy ball of humiliation and self-consciousness. _Just how long had he been watching him for?_

It’s only when Itaru feels a hand cradling his cheek, gently turning him to face Chikage that he realises that his plan may have just worked. Chikage looks as impassive as ever, but his tinted cheeks and pursed lips are a dead giveaway, making Itaru feel confident and shy and satisfied all at once.

“May I?” Chikage asks, and his voice suddenly sounds hoarse and thick with emotion, evident of how much Itaru had actually affected him. A childish sense of pride blooms in his chest, and Itaru coyly nods, crawling into Chikage’s lap and straddling him, swinging his legs over on either side of his hips. He lets himself press needily against Chikage’s chest, arms wrapped around his neck to pull himself as close to him as possible, and the sensation that he feels when he grinds against Chikage’s dress pants is fucking _incredible_.

“You’ve always been the impatient type, haven’t you,” Chikage whispers, mouthing against the skin of Itaru’s jaw. Itaru automatically tilts his head, wanting to feel his warm lips _all_ over his neck, and he breathes raggedly into Chikage’s collar as he drags his hips across the coarse cloth to taste more of that delicious, delicious friction. Always eager to please, Chikage generously coats his fingers in vaseline, before playing with Itaru’s puckered rim. He starts off slow, gauging his speed on how much Itaru scrunches his nose up, and only starts to pick up his pace when Itaru begins to whine and press sloppy kisses into the small space between Chikage’s neck and hairline.

Itaru nearly yells when Chikage, attentive as ever, mimics the way he had fingered himself earlier, expertly finding that same spot inside him that made a whole strand of embarrassing noises leak out of his throat. He grasps onto the chair, slackening himself against Chikage as numerous full-body shivers roll down his spine, and he breaks the skin of his lips with his incisors in an attempt to swallow the sounds that would’ve come out of him. 

“You don’t have to hold your voice in, Itaru,” Chikage encourages, burying his nose into the other’s sweat-matted hair and soothing his arched back. “No one’s here but me. No one else is going to hear you.”

Itaru nods mindlessly, eyes rolling far back into his head as Chikage continues to mercilessly massage his prostate. He thinks he’s screaming--he must be, because his throat is sore--but all that’s bubbling out of his mouth are incoherent babbles from a made up language, interrupted every now and then with guttural moans coming from the pit of his stomach. He thrashes against Chikage, writhing and twisting his hips and curling his toes and shaking and crying. Chikage’s name on his lips and in his head and prettily braided with please’s and _I love you I love you I love you I love you_.

“I--I’m… I’m g-gonna--”

Chikage pulls Itaru’s face out of his blazer, and kisses the ever-loving _shit_ out of him, pulling his fingers out of Itaru’s entrance to haphazardly stroke his cock. Itaru comes with a silent wail, digging his fingernails into the backrest of the chair as his hips violently shake and quiver one last _glorious_ time. He whimpers pathetically, loosening his death grip, and pants with his mouth half open, his face stiff from tear streaks. Chikage licks at his slacked jaw, tracing trails of saliva with the tip of his tongue up to his parted lips. Itaru’s bite-wound stings at the contact, but the feeling’s so far away, it’s like a muted buzzing from a distant corner of the room. It feels like he’s just come up to the surface after being underwater for hours, like he’s floating and can’t touch the ground. 

Just as Chikage moves to clean them up, Itaru realises that Chikage’s still rock hard.

“Wait,” he attempts to speak, but in his drowsiness it comes out all slurred, before lowering himself to crouch at Chikage’s feet.

“No, it’s fine, you don’t have to--” Chikage starts, but Itaru’s adamant in getting rid of his ridiculous self-punishing attitude, and he manages to pull him out from his pants. He glances up, just to check if Chikage’s still onboard, and upon seeing the embarrassed nod, immediately gets to work. 

Expecting Itaru to start with a stripe or a kitten lick, Chikage is absolutely _blindsided_ when Itaru decides to swallow him whole, rhythmically bobbing his head up and down and licking greedily at his slit. 

“It--Itaru, _fuck_ , I--” he groans, leaning back into the chair as Itaru slurps the precome from his cock, and in his carelessness, grazing the underneath of it with his teeth. Chikage threads his fingers amongst the locks of Itaru’s hair, careful not to tug at his scalp too roughly. Itaru attempts to speak with his mouth full, cheeks bulging, and it does nothing but send _infuriatingly_ good vibrations into Chikage’s cock. He thinks he could come right then, right there. Frustrated that Chikage wasn’t getting his message, Itaru pulls his soaked lips off of Chikage, a thin, silver line connecting his bottom lip to the tip of his cock.

“I _said_ ,” he croaks, “Fuck my face. You can pull at my hair if you want to.”

Well, Chikage didn’t need to be told that twice. He reaches down to anchor his fists in the roots of Itaru’s hair, and waits for Itaru to give him the all-clear. 

“What the hell are you waiting f--”

Without hesitation, Chikage slams Itaru down onto his cock, canting his hips to push it further into the depths of Itaru’s throat. Itaru hums, lips curling into a smile, as Chikage begins to ruthlessly--and there really is no other word for it-- _fuck_ Itaru’s face. The slick sound of his cock pushing itself into Itaru’s throat is nothing short of indecent, saliva and precome filthily guzzling out from the sides of Itaru’s mouth and mixing with his own high-pitched whimpers. 

Itaru hums once more when Chikage’s cock presses deep into his mouth, knowing _exactly_ how Chikage likes it, and with a stuttering cry, Chikage orgasms, holding down Itaru’s head till his nose crushes itself against his abdomen. Milking himself dry with rough thrusts, Chikage continues to spurt long ribbons down the back of Itaru’s throat, and Itaru nearly chokes himself with swallowed gags and teary eyes. Once the high rides through, he immediately releases Itaru’s head, the younger pulling his saliva-slick lips off of Chikage’s cock with an audible _pop_. 

Itaru watches, from beneath hooded lids, as Chikage neatly tucks himself back in, and diligently cleans both Itaru and himself up as best as he can with a packet of wet wipes. Itaru swallows the thick, sticky load in his mouth, clearing his throat several times before he feels like he’s ready to speak.

“So,” Itaru asks, no louder than a whisper, and his voice sounds completely and utterly _wrecked_ , “Did my mission strategy work?”

Chikage chuckles quietly to himself as he pulls Itaru’s limp, trembling frame up into his arms, and kisses his forehead with a certain tenderness that perks Itaru up slightly. 

“Alright, you win, I’ll stop working overtime unnecessarily,” Chikage sighs, raising his hands up in mock surrender, “I really don’t think I’d be able to peacefully work here without thinking of you fingering yourself in your chair, anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> looks like itaru upgraded from having chikage's fingers in his mouth, to chikage's Dick in his mouth. noice ...
> 
> i'm [@madeoforchids](http://twitter.com/madeoforchids) on twitter, so come say hi if u enjoyed this !!!! <3


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